The Quest begins
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: The little-documented first stages of the Quest from Rivendell are here described by Merry as he remembers the fear and anticipation he felt as they set out. As a Hobbit, he does not quite understand the Quest, but he knows that it does not have to end well.


We would have sat around the fire that night had there been a fire. As it was, we just agreed on a central spot to stare at, with the nine of us huddled up around the bare space in the middle. Pippin leaned on me on one side, his eyes sleepy and dust-filled; on the other side Gimli had already begun to nod. I felt my eyes grow heavy, but now was not the time for sleeping: though it was the middle of the night – indeed, the stars were beginning to wane – this was our midday, and would be for the next – I don't know how long. I didn't want to think about how long our Quest would take.

Wordlessly, Gandalf passed around a meagre ration of lembas bread. I refused mine; I wasn't hungry. _A hobbit? Not hungry? What's wrong with you?_ I could imagine Father saying, but I no longer felt like a hobbit. I felt like a beast of burden, like our pony Bill: all my worries and fears weighed down on me like the enormous pack Bill shouldered.

'It feels like an age since Rivendell,' I muttered to Pippin, who started slightly: he had been about to fall asleep. He rubbed his eyes and lifted his head slightly.

'Don't remind me about Rivendell,' he whispered back. 'It makes me think of feather beds and decent food.'

I did not mention to him that the memories of happy times spent in the bright, cheerful Elvish village were the only things that kept me going in this wilderness. If I could live out but some of the time spent walking somewhere else, I would be less likely to go mad. Why in the heavens had I agreed – no, demanded – to go on this misadventure?

Frodo was keeping up a low conversation with Gandalf and Aragorn, who listened to him without interrupting: whether from interest or weariness I could not tell. Nor could I make out Frodo's words, but it did not cheer me to see this. 'Look at our Frodo,' I said to Pippin, my voice raising in volume a fraction over the strengthening wind. 'He and Sam are always with the Big People these days.'

'Have you heard their conversations?' Pippin said, one eyebrow raised. 'They are always talking about doom and gloom, and all sorts of tragic things that could befall us. I do not like it. It is as if they are no longer hobbit.'

'I don't think any of us are any more,' I said. 'I do not know what we have let ourselves in for.'

Unexpectedly, Boromir spoke then, joining our conversation with the observation that would stay with me for the whole Quest: 'Nor does any of us. I don't think any of us can know our future in this task. But we must keep optimism, young Halflings. With a Fellowship like ours, what could possibly go wrong?'

We walked during the early morning, and when the Sun had been an hour over the horizon we stopped again, sheltering ourselves from the wind behind a huge rock. I did not like the rock: it looked as if it had tumbled from the hillside, and I didn't want to sleep near a crumbling mountain. But there was nowhere else vaguely sheltered in the vicinity; and so we set up camp, if you can call it that, and laid out our cloaks and blankets as makeshift beds.

Gandalf and Aragorn, self-elected leaders of the Company, dealt out Watches then, to see us the whole night – well, day – through. How we came to hate the Watches! We each got one nearly every night; I had one of the first.

It began near midday (true midday, that it: our midnight), when Legolas awoke me and crawled beneath his blanket. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and looked around me, preparing myself for a long and silent vigil over the land.

I suppose that my view was beautiful. In the East the Misty Mountains reared up before us, their white heads in the mist; in the West, a deserted plain stretched out as far as the eye could see, disappearing over the horizon in a haze of yellow. I could see nothing alive: winter had ravaged the land, clearing it of plants and animals, and there was snow below the tree line. I wondered when it would begin to snow at our level.

Far away, a white cascade tumbled from the mountains. It was at least a league away but it was still clear. I guessed at how tall the waterfall must be – five hundred feet? Six? I am not a good judge of measurements, but I could see that the Misty Mountains and the things within them were at a scale that terrified me. They could conquer us easily; we were entirely at the mercy of nature.

There I sat, alone and cold and frightened, keeping a watch over the land for anyone – or any_thing_ – that could threaten us. I was there for an hour, as we had decided, counting by the position of the Sun; I saw it cross my imaginary hour-line and straight away went to Boromir to awaken him for the next watch.

He got up and congratulated me on keeping awake; then he went to a rampart on the rock and sat there, a striking figure against the blank wilderness. I at once trusted his guard, and could get back to sleep fairly easily.

But though I fell asleep well enough, I was terrorised by the clearest dreams I had had in ages. I saw Mother and Father captured by the Black Riders; I saw Brandy Hall go to the Enemy. I saw Frodo and Sam in a shadowy land, supporting each other as they stumbled on weary legs; I saw myself fighting with blurred figures, barely able to parry their furious blows. And then, before a deeper sleep claimed me, I saw Boromir sitting confidently on the rock, his face indistinct; and suddenly his face became that of a Black Rider, and a black tongue slithered from the expressionless darkness; its terrifying voice hissed _What could possibly go wrong?_

I started in my sleep; then I must have rolled over and my dreams cleared, for I slept until morning, only then remembering the visions that had troubled my mind.


End file.
